For the past thirteen days I’ve been thinking about writing. My notes app continues to pile on with short passages and bullet points all titled “SUBSTACK IDEA” hastily written out on the bus, still in the middle of my room, in the midst of class. Yet, when I lay everything out on a document, everything that I’ve needed to say has already been said by someone else, or I couldn’t possibly put it to words, or I just. don’t. feel like it.
I’ve ruminated on writing this for months, how very ironic, you’ll come to see. It started out inspired by what has become a quarterly rewatch of CJ the X’s 7 Deadly Art Sins, only to be scrapped and restarted and rescrapped because of my hatred for anything I produce that isn’t deemed “profound” enough.
One of the problems I’ve had the most with Substack – or I suppose not with Substack itself, rather what has become my attitude towards it – is the fact that I have so many ideas! I have so many things I find important enough to start to pen, but not enough to even try to finish. I find myself asking so frequently “What am I saying?” I’ve had to revert back to the basics with figuring out my audience and purpose. Purpose grows harder each time.
The reason why first drafts are so hated is because of how unclear you realize your point is in the midst of trying to find it. I tout to everyone that “a shitty first draft is better than nothing because at least you have something to work with!” and still kill myself over a half start.
It’s weird to be vulnerable and admit that a part of me simultaneously wants to be recognized for some greatness without having the courage to do something. To want to be succinctly and effectively understood for who I am whilst only ever manic pixie dream girl implying my way to being thought of as “cool” or “academic” [1]
It’s weird to know, and so greatly believe that the only way to improve is to share, yet still only feel shame for not meeting an entirely arbitrary standard that I’ve created by obsessive comparison.
This whole “tortured artist” vibe is not working out for me.
[1] When I was 12/13 (I don’t remember the exact age for fear of having to dig through my diaries and find the entries where I stated this), I embarrassingly lived for the line in Hikikomori by Crywank that goes “I wanna be academic, confident, and romantic / But I just feel weird and overdramatic”
Further Reading / Viewing:
inspiration, mya moon via moongirl.substack.com
7 Deadly Art Sins, cj the x via youtube.com/@cjthex
It’s weird to be vulnerable and admit that a part of me simultaneously wants to be recognized for some greatness without having the courage to do something. To want to be succinctly and effectively understood for who I am whilst only ever manic pixie dream girl implying my way to being thought of as “cool” or “academic”
this is such an astute reflection of the self awareness that comes with signaling your identity via taste and having to bridge the gap between that implied identity and the reality of DOING something… i feel as though i’ve fallen into a trap of being understood the way i want to be, but not having the will to actually fulfill that identity. thank you for sharing <33
no bc i love and live for your writing. i was just squealing when i saw that i was in your further viewing again !! i missed your writing when you were gone <3